He yanked my hair back, forcing me to look into his eyes – a move that I will forever find arousing no matter what the circumstances – the harder and more abrupt the better. “Tell me you’re my plaything. Tell me I can do whatever I want to you.” As his hands explored my body, I found myself wanting exactly that – to give myself to him completely. To offer myself as a gift to be unwrapped, begging to be used and enjoyed. Used until I was spent. Used until there was nothing left of me to give.
He was like something I had created – occasionally disconcerting me with his words and actions. How could he so completely know what was in my head – was I that dull and predictable? Were my fantasies more prosaic than I thought? Or had I actually found someone so utterly in tune with my body and desires that he just seemed surreal?
I straddled him on my couch – he bit my neck and ground his straining cock against my increasingly wet pussy. Is there anything more intoxicating than to know you’re responsible for that growing heat and hardness? I could feel him through the thin wisp of fabric – so many sensations at once made it a challenge to concentrate. His hands running down my ribs and back, his tongue in my mouth, then teeth on my nipples, all while he slowly rubbed his cock against me…
“Tell me your fantasies – what do you really want that you’ve never told anyone? That you never dreamed would actually be fulfilled?” I told him about my plush carpeted orgy fantasy, assuming that he would simply purr in my ear that it sounded hot, and resume his ministrations. This was a mildly risqué fantasy to share, but not so shocking that it couldn’t be forgiven if he wasn’t into it.
I underestimated him.
He wanted to join me in the fantasy. He wanted the lights kept on, with me blindfolded if I wished. He embellished and elaborated it a bit- making me less selfish, and the entire scenario more consuming. He wanted to watch as I sucked on one cock while being fucked by another. He wants to join in while I get used and taken by a variety of men. I could feel him get harder as we talked about it – his hands all over me as he described what would happen.
I realized that he was serious – he wasn’t just role-playing or humoring me. My lusts made him as hot as they did me. It was a fine line we were walking, neither of us wanting to be a submissive, yet one of us had to give a little. My wish for a slave might be an indulgence that he would play at occasionally, but he was not one to be dominated. This was a man that I could tell my darkest carnal desires to. A man that wouldn’t be shocked or turned off – indeed, the more I shared, the more he would give in return.
This was a man who knew what he wanted, and was more than happy to take me along on a sensual wanton ride. A man who would take me to the riverbank beside my condo and fuck me on the picnic table there. A man who would take me to a park, pin me against a tree and slam into me. A man who would come to my office after work, bend me over my desk and take me from behind. A man who would take me to the ballet, insisting I wear a dress with no panties, then fuck me in the car in the parking lot before going home. A man who will take me to a party, then pull me into a bedroom or even a corner and fuck me regardless of who might see us.
Is he for real? Sometimes I can’t believe that I might actually be able to keep him long enough to have these fantasies and plans fulfilled. Men like this don’t actually exist. Intelligent, creative, strong, sexy men with bodies that beg to be worshiped? I’m convinced that one day soon I’m going to wake up and realize that this all was, in fact, in my head. But in the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the ride…